


Nothing (White)

by orphan_account



Category: Big Bang (Band)
Genre: Angst?, M/M, Nyongtory, giftfic, gri fic, hopefully angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2019-01-29 19:00:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12637200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Jiyong has to stop himself from ruining Seungri.





	1. Monster In Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stubbornsatan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stubbornsatan/gifts).



He dreams about a monster.

Heavy, huge, and white. Walking in a screaming light, trampling everything that’s trying to stop it. He hears screaming from distance, people running away to every direction, them who are not stupid enough to compete. He can’t see the creature’s face, can’t hear it clearly but it’s saying something.

Something familiar.

_It’s me._

He blinks, he wonders why he’s not blind yet. The wind carries the sentence one more time.

_It’s me._

He wants to run too, but–

_It’s me._

He has to take a step back. Probably a hundred, a thousand and miles back. Turn everything to the point when…when?

_It’s me._

White, he whispers. Black is a hole but white is emptiness, is death. White is alone, white is wanting– _needing_ –the colors, white is him.

_It’s me._

It’s me, he parrots.

_Me_.

.

.

.

Jiyong wakes up with a start and a cold can of soda on his cheeks.

“I need my coffee,” he says, his voice cracked at the end and causing hairlines of concern to spread all over Seungri’s round face.

“I’ll get you some,” Seungri sighs, fingers tracing the rose pattern of Jiyong’s bed sheet. “How was your sleep?”

“Scary,” Jiyong answers but that’s not what Seungri’s been asking for. “Terrifying,” he repeats because he can’t give what’s the boy has been wishing for. There’s nothing he could give and Seungri had agreed to that. Seungri is supposed to agree with him.

“I can get you some food too,” he offers, like always. “Hyung,” added like an afterthought; innocent as if he doesn’t know Jiyong at all.

“There’s nothing you can do,” Jiyong closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to see. “I need to work.”

Seungri runs his thumb on the back of Jiyong’s hand because he knows best but he can’t make things better.

 

“Aren’t you going to go out?” Jiyong warns him softly, it’s not the first time.

Seungri doesn’t flinch anymore like he used to. “Later.”

“When I’m sleeping,” Jiyong breathes out another smoke and another when Seungri stays still. “You always left whenever I didn’t watch.”

“You don’t want me to leave,” Seungri shrugs, shoulders square with apologies. “You just don’t want to say it out loud.”

“I say what _I_ want to hear,” Jiyong laughs. His nails are plain color of his own, he needs to get it done by now. “I don’t say things I don’t mean.”

“Hmm,” Seungri ignores the remark and saves them both from breaking.

 

“It’s creepy,” Jiyong turns his head away. “Stop staring.”

“I’m not staring at you,” Seungri claims.

“You are,” Jiyong sneers. “I can feel it.”

“It’s not like you’re not used to it.”

“It’s because I’m used to it, Seunghyun,” Jiyong swallows hard. “Quit looking at me.”

Seungri can’t but he tries.

 

“How’s your business?”

Seungri frowns. “We don’t talk _business_ in your house, hyung.”

“We do, I do now,” Jiyong presses the heels of his palm to his eyes until the back of his eyelids sprouting dancing light of black. “We talk.”

“Until you decide we don’t?”

“How’s business, Seungri?”

“It is fine,” Seungri trades his card. “I’m doing great. How about you?”

“My business,” Jiyong corrects him briefly, sternly. “I need to learn from you.”

The corner of Seungri’s mouth rises up and Jiyong has to learn to forget it all, to forgive himself. He is ruining them all.

.

.

.

_In his opinion, rain always came suddenly and unpredictable. Even with grey skies, the cold wind, and season –no, it’s still fucking unpredictable._

_“Didn’t you watch the news?” Seungri’s eyes scolded him softly. “Get inside, hyung.”_

_Jiyong shook his head, hair flipping wet, the air was heavy of earth scent. “No time.”_

_“I’ll get you something to wear,” Seungri urged him to the shower. “You can’t get sick.”_

_Jiyong laughed, his stomach exploded into ribbons. “You’re taking care of me well.”_

_“I’m not,” Seungri hesitated. “I can’t. You never let me.”_

_“I won’t,” Jiyong smiled, understood. “That’s not how things are supposed to be.”_

.

.

.

“This is my house,” Jiyong sets himself on the carpeted floor. The scent of delivered meal nags his appetite.

“Yes, it is, hyung,” Seungri hands him the chopsticks.

“Are you playing mother now?” but he is already scooping rice into his bowl.

“No.”

Jiyong lets the question _why_ falls apart onto silence as a joke, flies out the window into the storm of things he’d rather forget.

 

“Jiyong hyung?”

Jiyong knows that he can’t slow down his heartbeat to zero, that we can’t kill ourselves by holding our breaths. His eyes are closed, but his human senses are functioning just fine. There are things he can’t accept and things he has to.

“Are you sleeping?” Seungri’s tone goes quieter until it’s millimeter away from Jiyong’s cheeks, soft like skin of a rose. His fingertips come to brush Jiyong’s bangs, fluttering butterfly touches on his forehead, thousand thorns of heartache when they hover momentarily upon Jiyong’s lips.

_Twice_ , Jiyong schools himself before he runs after Seungri. There’s a tiniest slam of door, distant footsteps like rock skipping on water and finally the hums of car engine. _It happened only twice._

And it was not yesterday. Not today. Not anymore.

He turns on the light, his shadow whimpers a secret he lets Seungri ponder about.

.

.

.

_“Hyung,” Seungri’s voice was weak, frightened. His hands were trembling when Jiyong reached for it and the knife hit the floor with a sound of thunder. “What are you doing?”_

_“Sometimes,” Jiyong didn’t recognize his own reflection in the mirror so he stared down at their feet. Seungri’s shoes shone beside his slippers. “Nothing.”_

_Seungri’s breaths were shallow against his ears; the kind Jiyong would not allow him to show on stage. It was also the kind Jiyong didn’t want to witness himself._

_“I’m sorry,” he lied. “Momentarily distracted.”_

_“By what?” Seungri’s voice high, his grip around Jiyong’s wrist tightened, a personal cuff. “Hyung, what were you thinking?!”_

_If Jiyong closed his eyes now, he would see everything. His title, his fame, his life paths, his plans, his future, his past, his world, his fate, his responsibilities, his fight; his. “Nothing,” he answered. “Nothing.”_

_Seungri’s touch felt like silk, rich and thin. “Don’t do that.”_

_Jiyong looked up to see Seungri’s combed hair, the corner of his eyes, the concentration in his gaze, the frown of his mouth, the disappointment he had placed upon the younger’s shoulder. “You can’t tame me, Seunghyun.”_

_Seungri was lost and Jiyong liked it that way because it meant Seungri would be searching for something, mostly for Jiyong. “Hyung…”_

_“Okay,” Jiyong led them both out as if he hadn’t wanted it to end there in the first place. If there’s anything Jiyong would pretend to be in this world, it’s the same man Seungri used to think that hung up the stars in the night sky._

_His old self._


	2. The First

“You look miserable,” Seunghyun doesn’t ask for his permission, claiming the nearest couch and Jiyong’s TV remote bounces against the floor.

“You look _asshole_ ,” Jiyong scoffs but not too much because Seunghyun is having a hard times too. The older male throws him a glare, still.

“You should be grateful that I come visiting.”

“Sure, what gives?” Jiyong twirls his cigarette in between his fingers. The temptation is strong but he is going to present a song this afternoon. “What dragged you here? Who?”

“The _hyung_ in me?” Seunghyun rolls his eyes dramatically. “Where’s Seungri?”

“I’m pretty sure that this is _my_ house.”

“The place you’re hiding in when you’re not in your parents’ house, got it,” Seunghyun snickers. “I was going to scold Seungri for going out a lot.”

“I’m afraid that you’re looking in a wrong place,” Jiyong wants to get drunk before Seunghyun can go further. It’s not because Seunghyun doesn’t know that he’s slicing Jiyong into ribbons; it’s because he knows. “Go back to wherever you were.”

“Can’t,” Seunghyun grins. “Youngbae said he’ll get some food ready if I think about coming over his place.”

“Then go to Youngbae, leave me alone.”

“My ride is on his way.”

“ _His_?”

“Daesung.”

Jiyong sneers. “He lives literally one floor above Youngbae, why would he come to pick you up?”

“Because I don’t drive?” Seunghyun reasons. “He said okay and I didn’t question any kindness.”

“Great. A party without me.”

“I came to invite you, actually.”

“No, thanks.”

“Do you prefer to be miserable alone?”

“I am not miserable, Seunghyun,” Jiyong hisses.

“You are,” Seunghyun mocks. “And you like being miserable alone. The problem is that it’s impossible.”

“What’s impossible?”

“Alone,” Seunghyun sighs.

Jiyong hates to admit so he doesn’t bother to reply.

“You talk to Seungri. Tell him not to be _too_ friendly.”

“I thought you had the _hyung_ in you?” Jiyong laughs. “He is not a kid.”

“He is my kid and it’s your job.”

Jiyong’s throat closing in. “I’m not the leader off stage, Seunghyun.”

“Yeah, but you like him and he likes you more than he likes the rest of us.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Jiyong shakes his head. “Stop making excuses.”

“Me?” Seunghyun concludes before he goes out to smoke.

 

“Hyung, are you coming?” Daesung dresses in his black T-shirt with a pair of jeans that’s been washed out it’s hardly blue. His smile never falters to soften Jiyong.

“No,” Jiyong shrugs. He has many things to do and things to make plans about. “Make sure Seunghyun won’t end up drunk and embarrass himself, yeah?”

Daesung laughs, the sound echoes through Jiyong’s living room and eventually reaches up to Seunghyun who came running like hurricane. “All right, hyung.”

“Shall we go?” Seunghyun frowns. “You’re not coming? I promise Youngbae to bring you along!”

“Go go,” Jiyong urges them. “Be careful, tell Youngbae I say hi.”

.

.

.

Jiyong had lost Seungri once, during their debut days. They were fresh and new and young and scared and full of dreams. Jiyong had turned his head to look at some people on the street, had gotten his mind away from himself when the sun set. The fear sunk in him when he noticed the absent of Seungri, the unmistakably scent of missing. He spun around and the world did too, the light flickered on one by one, the sky darkened inch by inch.

Dizzied with the sudden loss, he stumbled front two steps, torn in between screaming Seungri’s name or asking for a help. Before he could say anything, he felt a tug on his shirt. There, standing Seungri with his eyebrows furrowed and pimples on his cheeks.

“Where were you, hyung?” Seungri asked, annoyed, relieved. “I’ve been looking for you. Let’s go back.”

Jiyong let him lead their way home, following Seungri’s back like a compass.

They never talked about it, Jiyong doubts if Seungri still remembers but sometimes he wonders if Seungri who came back that day wasn’t the Seungri he used to know.

That Jiyong was the one who’s lost and never gotten back home.

.

.

.

“How’s your hangover?”

Youngbae laughs. “On a scale of one to ten? Minus a hundred. We didn’t get drunk.”

“With Seunghyun around? How come?”

“He was too busy scolding Seungri.”

Jiyong bites his nail. “Oh, he was there too?”

“Yeah, he made it. Were you busy?” Youngbae questions.

“I didn’t know we had gathering,” Jiyong apologies. “I’ll make it up next time.”

“We didn’t,” Youngbae clarifies. “I told Seunghyun hyung that I’d get him some food ready if he’s coming over and he wanted to come right away.”

Jiyong smiles. “I don’t feel left out, Youngbae.”

“Then why?”

“There’s no why,” Jiyong speaks softly. “Just tired.”

“Seungri is worried.”

“Seungri,” the name rolls off of Jiyong’s tongue like cotton candy, sweet and melting and linger and present. “He gets so many things to worry about.”

“He’s worried about you,” Youngbae scolds. “It’s not funny.”

Jiyong pulls a thread from his pajama. “It’s not.”

“He said he’ll fly to Hong Kong today.”

“He told you his schedule? Is the world coming to its end today?”

“I asked,” Youngbae snorts. “He’d tell you if you ask too.”

“I don’t have to know.”

“Because you don’t want to?”

_Because I’m afraid,_ Jiyong hangs up.

 

_You should’ve tell me that you’re going to Youngbae’s place yesterday. I’d come if I knew you’d be there._

Jiyong sends the text because Seungri is miles away. Because it means he can’t find Jiyong even if he wants to.

_Let’s have a party when I go back, hyung?_

Jiyong doesn’t reply. He might want that too.

.

.

.

The first time it happened, the music was too loud. Seungri walked –waltzed –his way in the sea of people, looking expensive with his suit and charming smile. He talked, he joked, he laughed obnoxiously and everyone stared, everyone knew him. Jiyong sat in one corner, surrounded by drinks and conversations and alias. Nobody was real. Nothing was.

_“Aren’t you G-Dragon?”_

_“Hey, I saw you in the magazine yesterday!”_

_“Wanna go for a drink next time? It’ll be exclusive, I promise.”_

People caught him by his appearance, by his mask. It was nothing new to Jiyong so he smiled, playing along. The dance started, colors splayed on the floor, and Seungri leaped to his side, wearing his cacophonous laughter.

“Why aren’t you dancing?” Jiyong sunk into the familiar warmth and he’s not drunk yet. “Done expanding your circle yet?”

Seungri pressed closer to his side, thigh by thigh and reaching for a drink. “Don’t pick on me, I was just having fun.”

“Glad you had fun,” Jiyong leaned on Seungri’s shoulder. “Don’t get into trouble.”

“I won’t,” Seungri shrunk and Jiyong caught his wrist before he went away again. “I’m careful.”

“Good,” Jiyong’s thumb explored Seungri’s palm, tracing the lines of fate that barely glowed under the dim light.

“You should be too, hyung.”

“I’m having fun,” Jiyong closed his eyes, still very sober. His pack of cigarette was within reach.

“Careful,” Seungri sighed. “There are so many people here.”

“You like that.”

There was a pause that stretched to eternity. “I like you.”

Jiyong smiled and maybe he’s a little drunk because his stomach felt hot, Christmas light. “I know.”

“Do you like me too?”

“ _Hyung_ ,” Jiyong corrected. “Just because we’re –”

“Hyung,” Seungri grinned, his teeth sparkling, uncrooked. He’s been trying to be great, to achieve perfection and Jiyong wasn’t supposed to feel uneasy about him now growing up. Jiyong didn’t want anyone to stare at him like he owned the galaxy and if Seungri no longer saw him as a goal, then be it that way; best that way.

“I like you.”

Seungri shifted their position so he could bore his eyes into Jiyong’s. “How much?”

“So much,” that was Jiyong’s mistake and he should shut up, should drink, should get drunk.

Seungri’s fingers fitted in between Jiyong’s. “I love you.”

Everything inside Jiyong stirred and time ticked, began, pacing slowly. They’re not on stage and Jiyong was on alert when Seungri blinked, his eyelashes fluttered; dragonfly’s wings. The music was long gone, replaced by thunders in his ears as Seungri squeezed his hand a little harder than before. Jiyong’s heart was on his sleeves, dangling dangerously on the edge. “I love you too.”

It was the first time.


	3. Pointless

He doesn’t _just_ write, Jiyong realizes. He is dreaming of how the story _should_ be.

Words starting to squirm behind his eyelids, rhythm drumming in his sense, and there are flashes of red dots when he shuts them too tight, his head weight a dozen kilotons. He smells like tobacco, his beard is sprouting, messy. His mom would scrunch her nose and drag him to the nearest bathroom if she’s here. He is missing home.

The pattern of Seungri’s steps startles him. Even so, he’s still shocked when the younger man stands in his room.

“What are you doing here?”

Seungri puts a red paperbag on Jiyong’s unfinished lyrics. “Present for you, hyung.”

“I’m busy,” Jiyong shushes him. “When did you come?”

“Just now,” Seungri yawns. “I’m just going to go home and sleep.”

“And then going out again. Where will it be next? Shanghai? London? Las Vegas?”

To Jiyong’s surprised, Seungri goes rigid. His eyes scan the room, eventually lands on some crumpled paper abandoned near the edge of the table.

“What?” Jiyong challenged him and for a moment, they’re back to the days when Jiyong was that much superior than Seungri was.

“It’s not like you need me here,” Seungri clears his throat, shoving his hands in his pocket, his ripped jeans are black and brand new. “If you –”

“I’d let you know,” Jiyong begins to write on his skin with his blue pen. Then ink stays and smudged.

“Yeah,” Seungri’s tone is folded into himself. “Announcing it to the whole world.”

“What?”

“SNS,” Seungri smiles, sharp and accurate. “ _I need you Seungri._ Right?”

“Right,” Jiyong reaches for tissue. “And you’re going to boast about it on stage.”

“Of course,” the maknae laughs. “What else am I going to do to get the fame?”

“You can’t keep a secret.”

“I learned from the best teacher, I suppose.”

The room is getting smaller and freedom tastes of fresh dew, clinks of Church bell, dandelions, everything that’s outside. “Then learn to shut up.”

“Then you’d have nothing else to talk to me about.”

“I’ll call you once in a while.”

“I meant when I’m around,” Seungri’s shoulders slump forward, a sign of defense, a warning of white flag. “Like now.”

“I’ll text,” Jiyong runs his fingers through his hair. It’s sticky, sweaty, tangled in some parts. “What do you want me to do?”

“What you used to do,” Seungri answers without missing a beat.

When Jiyong just stares, he excuses himself out and it’s over.

.

.

.

Hate is more manageable than love. It takes less space in his head and definitely in his heart and it’s easier to shift it into something else, something he could put in a box along with things that don’t matter in the end but love –

Love is disgusting. Love is a sickness and he’s definitely sick of it, of all kind that made him vulnerable, incoherent. He’s lying to himself and he’s honest when everyone is looking. He’s open when he knows that people would take it as a joke, as something that might not be true. He’s loud, very loud, when he’s certain that there are people listening, not just one.

Not just Seungri.

 

Jiyong hates love, hates loving, hates the way it’s eating him up from the inside.

.

.

.

Things always strange when it comes from Daesung so Jiyong just sit there, speechless while the younger sips his tea in a calmness of the sea he possesses, probably the side effect of his continuous drumming and LEGO building.

“It’s true though,” he laughs when Jiyong refuses to talk. “Sometimes you’re just jealous.”

_Just jealous_.

Jiyong shakes his head, confused. “I’m not jealous.”

“Oh well,” Daesung nods. “My bad, then.”

“It’s not jealousy,” Jiyong gives up to him. If only it’s this easy to give up to anyone else. “I don’t even know what it is.”

“How does it feel?” Daesung’s voice, as always, gets softer and raw with pain edges when he speaks. It rubs on Jiyong’s scar like bandages.

“White.”

“White?”

Jiyong is always in a wake of rainbow, of all sorts of sparkles, glittering under the spotlight, walking magnet. If there’s something explainable, it’s that despite everything, he wants to be nothing.

“White,” he repeats, the wind swirls around them. “Just white.”

Daesung hums. “Hyung, if you can start over, will you take the same path?”

Time is an illusion human made to count memories, to be certain of the amount of what has passed and when will the others come. Turn back, run forward, stay still…what if we’re just running in circles?

“Yes,” Jiyong wraps his arms around himself, a living origami, trying to shape-shift until he can’t recognize himself. “Yes.”

.

.

.

“Give the key back to me,” Jiyong puts the small bottle down. His nails are still wet purple. “You keep on barging into my house without permission.”

“I got you a cat,” Seungri looks around, not amused by how Jiyong hadn’t cleaned his place.

“Cat?”

“For luck,” Seungri grins. “Keychain.”

“I believe in hard work,” Jiyong laughs. “But thanks.”

Seungri mutters something Jiyong can’t catch.

“What?”

“People think –” Seungri pauses, his gaze slides up from Jiyong to the ceiling. In Jiyong’s mind, he looks like he’s praying, like Seungri is waiting for something to happen. “People think we had a fight.”

“How is that?” Jiyong frowns. “And who are these people?”

“My friend,” Seungri says hesitantly. “People.”

“I don’t know people,” Jiyong claims selfishly, his heart hammering in his chest. “People don’t know us either.”

“Hyung –”

“Me,” Jiyong corrects himself. “People don’t know me.”

“But I do,” Seungri clears his throat, his eyes closing. “I know you.”

“Do you?” Jiyong’s throat tightens with anger. “Nobody does.”

 Seungri leaves and Jiyong doesn’t believe in many things.

.

.

.

There is nothing beautiful about love. Everything hurts and there is never a day one or the last moment, there just nothing about it that’s right.

There’s no point of love or loving or being in love.


End file.
